


Waking Up Is Only the Beginning

by Aretsuna



Series: Fitz's recovery [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Post-Season/Series 01, before season 2, mentions of Doctor Who "The Waters of Mars", tw: mentions of depression and suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2797502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aretsuna/pseuds/Aretsuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of short scenes - Fitz recovery from Simmons POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Engines working in the rhythm of a heart

Fitz had always loved machines- him becoming an engineer wasn't an accident. He could spend hours staring at blueprints, drawing, scribbling notes and making adjustments. He could keep working for days, twisting wires and pieces of metal, connecting them all into one beautiful piece of work. Sometimes he would get so lost in designing, that she had to remind him about food and sleep. He would muss his curls then, eyes out of focus, giving her a little absent-minded nod while mumbling “just a few more seconds”.

Once he had told her, that the constant sound of a working engine always made him calm.

 _Fitz and machines used to be a natural combination_.

Now he was surrounded by them, almost crushed. He was lying in a hospital bed, with his face so pale and body buried under duvet and wires. He looked so small in that room full of monitors and devices breathing for him, feeding him and watching over his heartbeat and brain activity. In the middle of all this equipment was his pale face covered by the oxygen mask, lost in that cold, frigid place. He looked so tiny and fragile. He was almost unnoticeable, drowning in metal and plastic of machines supporting his life.

_That wasn't natural at all._

_The sound is regular_ , she told herself. The beeping of the monitors was steady, reassuring her that he was still breathing, his heart still beating. That he was still alive, still there. The sound was calming her only a little, stabbing her heart at the same time, a constant reminder that he shouldn't need this, they shouldn't have to check it constantly, because he should be walking, eyes open and smile on his face, talking about physics and mechanics and monkeys. Not lying there, in a coma for two days already.

She wondered if he was hearing the beeping. If it was calming him like it used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this, I hope you enjoyed it at least a little bit :)


	2. Error 404

Simmons spent nine long days and nights sitting next to Fitz’s bed. Every now and then she thought that she just had to be patient, because everything would be all right the moment his eyes opened. _Because his eyes **will** open eventually._ She was sure that all this pain would finally come to an end, when she would no longer have to sit by his bedside and worry that he would never wake up, that she would not see the blue of his eyes ever again. Of course, she still was a little restless, since he could be expecting some kind of answer from her, so she pushed this thought away, over and over, convincing herself she could deal with that when the moment came.

Fitz woke up after nine days and for a few minutes Simmons was the happiest person on planet Earth. Just for a few minutes she was smiling, full of joy and hope.

Then she noticed his lack of reaction.

He wasn’t speaking. He didn’t respond to anything she had said and didn’t answer any of his doctors questions.

He was just staring at them, confused, like he couldn’t comprehend. His eyes were moving, but that was the only indicator of him being conscious and for a moment she was terrified that he might be paralyzed.

During next seven days, he was mostly sleeping, waking up only for a moment at odd times, during day as well as night. Sometimes Fitz was conscious for just five minutes, sometimes for a whole three hours. Sometimes he was just looking around, like he couldn't understand where he was and why. Sometimes he was listening to what they were saying with recognition and attention written on his face.

Simmons was getting more and more exhausted. Starting every conversation with _“Do you recognise me?”_ was slowly and painfully killing her. Seconds felt like years when she was waiting for his response, praying that this time it would be a nod, not brows furrowed in confusion and lack of recognition.

She was trying to stay cheerful, to give a positive, optimistic vibe and buoy him up. She was babbling about their times at the Academy, trying to lighten the mood and desperate not to think what could be the cause of his prolonged silence. Whatever that was, she didn’t want to wonder if it was only temporary or permanent. Not now. It could be some paralysis or inability to use vocal cords or control muscles in his throat, or aphasia, or maybe he could not recognise speech at all. Still, she was trying to stay hopeful, because after two days he was responding with his eyes and light movements of his head when they were talking to him.

And so, Simmons was talking and talking and talking with false happiness in her voice, when she noticed that his eyes had wandered to the wall a while ago. No sign of interest in them, only a slight glimpse of sadness, like he couldn't understand what she was talking about, or couldn’t find it in him to care.

“Fitz?” she called him softly.

He turned his eyes her way, looking at her blankly.

“I'm talking too fast, am I not?”

Fitz stared at her for a moment and nodded slightly.

Simmons tried not to think of all these countless times, when they were both talking too fast for anyone to keep up or understand. Anyone but them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I had a problem with the title for this chapter. I wanted it to be something about system not recognising controllers or devices, but I'm not that good with computers even when using my mother language, even worse in English. So I opted for "Page not found" as a metaphor for Fitz being unable to use some parts of his brain.  
> -about spelling: I'm trying to stick with British English since Simmons is British.  
> -I'm thinking about writing Fitz version of this fic after I finish this, but not promising anything.  
> -Christmas are close, so I probably won't have time to write for a while. Next update would probably be in 2015. So Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone :)


	3. Catch me before I fall

Simmons couldn't stop herself. She tried, really. She bit her lips and tried to force her muscles not to move, but failed time and time again.

Nine days after he woke up, Fitz started sitting up. Well, actually he started _trying_ to sit up. On his own. Which was difficult, given he had only one arm for help with supporting his whole body, since the other one was still in a cast- broken and far from being operational. All of his muscles were weak from lack of use, his body drained of strength and barely ready to move. Not to mention most of his energy was recently used on regenerating cells damaged by hypoxia and oxygen deprivation. Damaged by drowning.

She just couldn't stop herself from smiling, even though she know it was not only stupid, but probably also rude and insensitive. Fitz was a grown man, who has suffered a lot, and her best friend trying to sit on hospital bed shouldn't make her so happy. She was trying not to smile too bright, because Fitz could interpret it as her laughing at his clumsy attempts. He was always so insecure, sometimes too proud to even admit he needs help, let alone asking for it, and since his... Well, lately he was even more sensitive, especially about his current condition. Still, sitting on his own was a huge progress and she was far too glad to control herself and her joy.

Fitz stayed awake for hours now, always recognised them, his fingers and toes had feeling in them and now he was trying to sit up. He still had not spoken, but she had to stay positive and focus on good things. So she sat on her chair right next to his bed and just watched. He was supporting himself on his right forearm and trying to stay stabile long enough to rise his torso higher. When he managed to do this, he took a deep breath and moved his right arm a little, so that he could rest his palm on mattress and push himself to sit straight. Before, she or someone else that was nearby, was always helping him when he wanted to sit or turn. Just after he woke up his body was too exhausted from fighting to stay alive, to have enough energy for coordinated movement. She had known that he was not happy about needing help with basic stuff, but accepted it. He needed time to gain his strength back, and she was glad to help. After some days he was moving more and more and the next step was to sit without someone else doing the work for him.

Now he was bitting his bottom lip so hard it turned white, his whole body shaking while he tried to rise his torso and struggled to support his weight on an arm that no longer obeyed him like it used to. Now Fitz was fighting for control over his body and bringing order to his own limbs. He almost did this, was so close to succeeding, when he accidentally hit his left elbow, barely touching the mattress. It was nothing, really, but it was his broken arm and it was painful enough to twist his face, causing him to lost his focus and balance. Simmons reached to steady him, wanting to help him, give his body some kind of support, like she had done so many times during last days. She stopped the moment she noticed his lips twisting in frustration, and heard his quiet growl.

He had to do this by himself.

He _wanted_ to do this by _himself_.

She had to let him.

She could just watch helplessly as her best friend in the world struggled to sit up.

Skye didn’t follow the same line of thought. Her hand shot forward and caught Fitz’s shoulder, stabilizing him. For a moment Simmons was angry at herself for hesitating, for backing away, for not helping. For being useless and over thinking how to help instead of just doing it.

_Then Fitz spoke._

“Don’t.” voice quiet and rasped, weak, but audible.

That was the first time Simmons heard Fitz’s voice since his  _‘Take it.’_ muttered at the bottom of the ocean, seconds before he hit that bloody button. It sounded so different from his normal, light tone, vowels sounding almost like a bark, from frustration as well as lack of use of his vocal cords.

She smiled, wanting to hug him and tell him how happy and proud she was, _because he could speak, he will speak, he just needed time, he will speak, and talk with her, and they will be talking and finishing each others sentences and she will be able to hear his voice again_ , but his face was far from happy. Skye’s hand long gone from his body, message not to touch him loud and clear. He laid back on his pillow, more like collapsed on it, really, and sighed, face twisting with resignation.

“It’s all right, Fitz.” she reassured him, “You’re almost there.” he would jump in self-pity if she let him. “You will sit all by yourself soon enough. But you’ve just spoken! That’s wonderful, really. You’re getting better.”

He didn’t answer and she tried to convince herself that the muscles in his clenched jaw relaxed even just a little.

Fitz managed to sit up. Of course he managed. Finally. He was always trying and trying until he succed, his Scottish determination refusing to give up on anything. After few more days sitting was an almost natural process to him. _Almost_. He was also talking more and more. Well, he vocalised some words- compared to his speech before the accident, that was just a sad echo, but it made her hopeful.

_She had enough evidence to diagnose aphasia after two more days._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Thanks to TheLateNightStoryTeller and hazel-elizabeth-stark for beta reading :)


	4. When PhD doesn’t make a doctor (part 1)

Working for S.H.I.E.L.D. had one big downside: it required working. In Simmons’ case, mostly in the lab. Funny thing about lab: it was definitely not mobile. Sure, the Bus could fly everywhere, but her lab couldn’t be moved to a part of Playground used as a field hospital, so she had to stay in the other part of the building.

She couldn’t sit by Fitz’s side as long and often as she wished. Coulson was kind enough to let her spend most of her days with him when he was unconscious and the first few days after he woke up, but after that she had to go back to work. They didn’t have enough people to spare. Working without her partner was so strange and alien, she couldn’t wait for him to come back to the lab. She was trying to focus on her work, but was constantly becoming distracted, frequently catching herself wondering whether he’s awake.After a whilee she found she was always giving up, gathering her papers and going to work in Fitz’s hospital room, watching his sleeping face every few minutes. Not the best idea, that way she was working even slower, making nearly no progress at all. Still, even guilt over not doing her job properly couldn’t stop her. She had to be wary of nurses, well, they weren’t _actual_ nurses, just personnel with basic med training responsible for monitoring patients in what they called the ‘hospital’. Each time one of them caught her sitting next to him, she was either reported to Coulson or May, or literally kicked out of the room. _“You’re not helping, so don’t disturb,”_ and “ _He will gain nothing from you exhausting yourself,”_ were their favourite charges. As a result, when Fitz started being awake for more than an hour or so, she couldn’t keep him company often enough for her liking.

20 days after the accident, his cast was taken off and he moved to his new room. Nurses thought it would be better for him to not stay in hospital too long. Simmons agreed with them. Apart from the obvious reason, there was this... other factor to be considered. She had known enough about medicine and post accident rehabilitation to be aware of what could happen. Staying long in hospital could have bad influence on his psychical health. They had to move him somewhere more cheerful and comforting. Find him something to do, to keep depressing thoughts away. Some movement would be great, but right now all that could be done was putting him on a wheelchair. With an electric engine, since his arms were not strong enough to steer it yet. Fitz hated it. There was no grumping and loud complaining, since expressing anything with words was still a problem for him, but she had seen it in his eyes when he was looking at that thing. He probably thought this technology was ancient and ineffective and had come up with, like, 15 modifications that should be done with it within the first two minutes he was using it. The other problem with the wheelchair was that someone had to help him sit on it, and there were not so many places where he could go. It didn’t actually give him freedom of movement, so mostly he was just sitting in his bed and never asked for his wheelchair.

The worst part though, was that they needed doctors. She was a doctor, theoretically, but her two PhDs meant nothing when it come to this. The med team stationed in the Playground was more ‘save agent’s life after a hard mission’ kind of team. They were good at rescuing, not rehabilitation. They were lucky enough to find someone with basic knowledge of physical therapy still working for S.H.I.E.L.D. That was not enough. Fitz needed specialists. He needed a neurologist, a speech therapist, some true physician who could supervise his convalescence. And a psychologist, as painful as it was to admit. She could scan his brain as much as she wanted, but she couldn’t repair his mind. They all needed someone who would advise them on how to approach him, how to make him better instead of upsetting him. How to not let him fall into depression. But there was nobody to look for help, so they had to figure this out on their own, by experimentation. She used to love experiments. She hated that one. She hated that she was walking around blind, guessing, waiting for his reaction and not knowing if it would be the one she was aiming for. She hated that their communication wasn’t as good as it used to be. And she hated that the rest of the team came to her for guidance before each and every interaction with Fitz.

They all reached the conclusion that Fitz should have something to do, to keep his mind away from unpleasant thoughts. It was Coulson who suggested bringing him something to work on while he was still chained to his bed, or occasionally, a wheelchair.

Terrible idea, as it appeared.

Fitz liked it. At first. He gladly inspected the broken device Trip found for him, and smiled when he stuttered for a while before telling them it wouldn’t be hard to repair (of course it wouldn’t, they made sure of that _before_ they had brought it to him, even Koenig could repair it).

Then he started working and it dawned on them how severe his brain damage was. He couldn’t keep his hands steady long enough to do anything, the muscles in his fingers giving up at surprising moments, things he was holding falling and rolling away from where he wanted them.

Fitz, stubborn as always, was clenching his jaw harder, brows furrowing in concentration, determination radiating from his pose when he caught a bolt at fourth try. His left hand was shaking, his arm not giving it enough support, not operating like he wanted it to. He turned a screwdriver with his right hand while trying to hold a bolt in its place with his left.

_It won't work, it won't work. It will never work._

He broke his left arm in the pod when they were falling, and didn't do any physical therapy while his bone was mending. He couldn't, he was in coma and then barely strong enough to move a finger. The first fortnight after breaking a bone is crucial for its recovery. Simmons had known that, but she was too busy begging him to lift his eyelids to even think about his broken arm, let alone look for a way to exercise the muscles so that the movement range wouldn't change. Decrease. Now it will never work and she had to tell him this. She should tell him, the sooner the better.

"Next time you will do this Fitz." She lied, praying that he wouldn't see right through it, like he always did.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -In summary I promised short scenes and this chapter is a little long, so I split it in two. Next part will be out soon.  
> -Thanks to TheLateNightStoryTeller and hazel-elizabeth-stark for beta reading :)


	5. When PhD doesn’t make a doctor (part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a mention of Doctor Who episode "The Waters of Mars" in this chapter. I tried to keep it spoiler-free, but warning just in case.  
> Takes place just after the end of previous chapter.

Fitz just sighed, and massaged his temple with his fingers.

“Headache?” Simmons asked.

He just nodded.

“Have you taken your painkiller?”

 _Stupid question_ , she scolded herself, _of course he had taken it, since he wasn’t whining with pain. His migraines were quite strong, he wouldn’t be able to sit and work with this amount of pain bothering him. Why had she even asked this?_

“Yeah.” Short answer.

“Just rest for a while. There’s no need to hurry. I have to go back to work soon, do you want to watch a film or something?” He nodded again. “Which one?” She went to take his laptop and turned it on.

“Wa.. wate...” He begun, closing his eyes in concentration.

“The Waters of Mars,” that wasn’t hard to guess.

“Mhm.”

She opened the file, promised him she would be back in the evening, and left.

Since he had woken up, he’d watched “The Waters of Mars” seven times already. They always agreed it was a good episode, but never one of his favourites. Plus, the ending was a little... disturbing, given their current situation.

“Skye?” She found the hacker in one of the rooms working on her laptop.

“What’s up?” A smile greeted her along with brown eyes looking up from the screen.

“I have been wondering,” Simmons started fumbling with her fingers,” whether you would be so nice as to do me a tiny, little favour?” 

“That sound serious.” Skye chuckled. “Sure, what’s this about?” 

“Could you, maybe, if it’s not too much of a problem for you, delete one file from Fitz’s laptop?” she tried to not look nervous, like it was not a big deal, because really, it wasn’t, she was just trying to help her best friend, nothing wrong about it.

“Wow, have you sent him something you shouldn’t? Like you talked with somebody about him and hit the ‘send’ button without checking the receiver?” Skye’s smile was growing with each second.

“No, that’s not it. There’s this... Well, I mean, he watches “The Waters of Mars” over and over, and it’s getting a little... disturbing. You know what I mean. It’s just, he... he shouldn’t watch this, it’s not good for him. And it’s not like it was ever his favourite one or something.”

“You want me to delete something Fitz watches, so he can’t do it anymore?” Skye’s smile vanished in a second.

“He watches it too often, and I really don’t think the implication of the finale is good for him.”

“He will know I did this, Simmons. There’s no way he wouldn’t notice and guess who could have done this.”

“Well then, delete some other not so important files, so it looks like an accident?” she suggested.

“Do you even hear what you’re saying? Simmons, come on. He’s sick, yes, he’s still healing, but he’s an adult and last time I checked, he wasn’t incapacitated. He’s at least five times smarter than me, even when he can’t speak, how can I decide what he can or can’t do? I won’t hack his computer and censure it.”

“You don’t understand...”

“Hell yeah to that. And I don’t want to. You want him to stop watching this movie, try to convince him.” 

“Actually, it’s a TV Show special episode. _Doctor Who_. Aired after season 4.”

Skye was just silently looking at her for a moment.

“Why don’t you watch it with him then? You both love that show."

“I... I don’t really feel like it.”

“You sure it’s him that can’t watch it?”

“What?” she furrowed her brows.

“Don’t ask me, you’re the genius in this room. I mean, you two were always watching movies together, but now Fitz is watching it alone, there’s no sense in that. Oh no, wait, wait, I’ve got it!” a wide smile returned triumphantly to her face. “I figured out what your sneaky scheme is... You don't want to watch this episode, because you don’t like it. Or it’s scary or something. But you don't know how to tell this to Fitz, so you want me to do the dirty job. No way, Simmons, I saw right through you."

Skye couldn't be more wrong. That was not her intent at all. And that was the truth about situation, not her denial

"Oh, well" she shrugged and left the room, leaving her completely unhelpful friend alone.

 _Scared. Really? Of a TV Show? Her?_ This idea was truly ridiculous. She'd seen it many times already. She had even caught glimpses of different scenes when Fitz was watching it lately. 

Funny, how even the tiniest things keep changing. In the past, she always sided with Adelaide in the finale. Her mind, always loving rules and order, had no problem wih tunderstanding what this brave woman was thinking. The ending was sad, true, but also painfully right- the time and space continuum, the universe- all remained intact. But now, she was afraid that Fitz would eventually agree with Brooke too. That's this is the reason he's watching it over and over. 

Or worse. That he will find a solution for his problems there. 

She made sure there were no sharp objects in his room, just in case her worst fear was to come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Thanks to TheLateNightStoryTeller and hazel-elizabeth-stark for beta reading :)  
> -May I add, there’s a strong correlation between feedback and motivation ;)


	6. The Time Lord Victorious (is Wrong)

When Simmons was a little girl, she didn’t dream of becoming an actress or a singer. She dreamed of a good school and university- of knowledge, labs and experiments. When she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. she wanted to save the world with her science, to get to know more about the mysteries of reality. When she joined Coulson and dragged Fitz along, she wanted to see the world, to be there when impossible the happened, to see it with her own eyes.

Now she just wanted to help her best friend get better. She would gladly be a nurse for the years to come, if that's what it took. It was Fitz- without him the lab was just an empty space with walls, tables and microscopes. Even the most interesting cases Coulson had given her lost all their charm when she couldn't discuss them with Fitz. She did her job, she solved the problems, and she answered the question the team needed answered. Sometimes she even found them interesting, but there was nothing in her job that would make it exciting and doing it simply couldn’t bring her joy anymore.

She needed Fitz back. It wasn't the same if they weren't Fitzsimmons, and they couldn't be Fitzsimmons when Fitz had trouble working. She wanted to help him, so that everything would be back to how it used to be.

After two weeks of being chained to a wheelchair, which Fitz hated with all the passion he could silently muster, he was cleared for walking as long as he was using a cane to support the weight his muscles couldn't handle alone, not yet.

Fitz was walking slowly, step by step. The length of the hall between his room and lab was way too long in Jemma’s opinion. She was walking beside him, keeping her pace even with his slow steps, not minding at all that the walk took them over ten minutes instead of two. She kept a gentle smile plastered to her face, when he kept supporting himself on a cane and the wall. He swayed and she caught his arm, afraid that he would trip and fall. She took her hand away the moment she saw the embarrassment and anger spreading over his face while he averted his eyes from her.

It pained her that this loathing wasn't even directed at her but at himself. Why couldn’t he see how much progress he had already made and how valuable he was for all of them, even if he wasn’t fully physically fit?

“Good work Fitz,” she praised him, “soon enough you will be walking without any problems. You’ll see, a little more exercise and you could...”

“Don’t... don’t say... about O-Olympics... taking part. I’m not going to .... to... to win for... uhm... England. Not the... the...”

“Gold?” she smiled even though she knew her Olympics joke was awful and she had told it too many times already. Of course Fitz's just had to throw Scottish independence right into it. But hey, he was not only smiling (well, more like relaxing his face for a while) but also joking. That was a good sign.

He took a deep breath and resumed his slow steps. She wanted to help him by holding his arm and giving him another point of support, but lately she wasn’t as casual with intruding on personal space and touching as she used to. They still hadn’t talked about his... confession. He hadn’t mention it, not even once, and sometimes she wondered if he remembered clearly what happened in the pod. Or maybe he was regretting saying anything. She hadn’t addressed that topic either, since she wasn’t sure what to say, how to answer, not even sure what they were anymore. She just had a feeling that touching him was somehow not fair, not when it could be interpreted wrongly and add to the confusion surrounding them.

But she couldn’t just let him fall now, could she? No, never.

She held his arm maybe a little too hard, for a little too long. And maybe there was no need to run her fingers in soothing circles. And it probably wasn’t necessary for her to move a little closer, so close she could almost feel the warmth of his breath. But she missed him, missed her best friend, the closest person she had in the whole world, and she could let herself have a moment of weakness as long as Fitz was not protesting, right? It wasn’t like someone would get hurt because of that.

She missed him. He was right next to her, alive, breathing and recovering, and she still missed him.

All was good when they were walking down the corridor. It was fine when they entered the lab. As always, she felt a wave of gratitude toward Coulson- it was really thoughtful of the director to give them a workspace that was part of main lab, but at the same time was arranged in a way that kept them on the side, away from other scientists. That way they had their own enclave, where Fitz didn’t have to worry about strangers. Simmons went to her workspace and started analysing her samples, every now and then catching a glance of Fitz examining some blueprints. Everything was fine.

For about twenty minutes, until he threw the paper at the wall.

Fitz was never known for his patience or being good at dealing with strong emotions. In extreme situations he was either focusing solely on his work, or throwing a tantrum. And now he couldn’t work, which left him only one option.

She knew enough of medicine to know what could be expected in Fitz’s state: depression, mood swings, hypervigilance, outbursts of anger, apathy, self-destructive behaviour to name a few. She thought she was prepared for it to come.

She was wrong. So very wrong.

“You need to be more patient Fitz.” She tried to convince him when he hid his face in his hands. “Recovery takes time, but you are getting better. Look how much better you are now! You walk.”

“Yeah, like... uhm... same as... k-ke... kid...every... can.”

“Well, you need time to relearn things. Walking is the first step, but there will be others. You’ve already taken other steps. There is no need to worry, let's just take it slow, one step at a time.” She tried to look optimistic and stop peeking at his notes full of messy letters that didn't resemble his neat handwriting at all.

“Useless.” he murmured, voice small and broken.

“No, Fitz don't say that, that's not true and you know it. You just need time to heal.”

“No. I can... can’t do anything.”

“Oh, Fitz, stop with this pitying.” It was only a moment. A moment of weakness. Only for a moment she let herself slip into impatience and irritation.

“Well, if I’m... burden you should... should have... uhm... leave...”

“No, I’m not going anywhere, Fitz, we’re working on this together.” She tried to fix her mistake as soon as possible.

“Not now. The pod.”

Silence.

“You didn’t mean that.” She watched him intensely while taking a short breath, trying not to move.

“It’s true. Would be better for all.” he wasn’t looking at her anymore.

 _He didn’t stutter_ , she noticed, _he didn’t search for words. Didn’t hesitate. Like he had been repeating it over and over in his head until he remembered._

“No!” she shouted before she could stop herself. “Don't say that. Don't even think that. It wouldn’t be better. I could never leave you. You are alive and that's all that matters.”

“That... decision...,” his head rose from his hands and he looked at her with anger burning in his eyes. She tried to convince herself that emotion of any sort is better than apathy. “I made. Not yours.” He took a deep breath. “Mine... I had chosen...You... you had no right to... to force.”

“You don't mean that.” She bit her lip, because she couldn't cry now, she had to remain strong. For him. “You're just angry, that's all.”

He didn't respond, just looked at her with this pain and suffering in his eyes. He looked back down.

“You don't mean that.” she repeated in a whisper, her voice trembling and something gripping her throat.

She spun around and walked away, so that he couldn't see the tears that started falling from her eyes.

He didn't mean what he said.

He didn't.

He didn't, that was just his meds talking. He had to take quite a lot of them, and they were affecting his hormones and causing mood swings. It wasn't him, that was his pills talking.

She was the one who recommended using that medicine.

She was afraid to think of what he would say without them. That _she was the one who did this to him_ , for example. Or _why didn’t she swam faster_?

He apologised to her. Of course he did, stuttering over his words and fumbling until he get out how he didn’t want to upset her and was grateful for her help. All of it.

But she still spoke with his doctors about changing his meds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The title is a qoute from Doctor Who “The Waters of Mars”. It’s something both the Doctor and Brooke have said.  
> \- Thanks to TheLateNightStoryTeller, amandajoyce118 and hazel-elizabeth-stark for beta reading.  
> \- May I add, there’s a strong correlation between feedback and motivation ;)


	7. Mind on fire

Simmons was well aware of the fact that a part of Fitz’s brain was damaged beyond healing. That a part of it would never work again. There were days when it hurt him. Literally hurt him with headache so strong he couldn’t stand even the tiniest sound or light. His migraines were strong in the first month after the accident, appearing far too often for Simmons liking, but as the time passed they were less frequent. Usually they could soothe the pain with meds. Not anymore.

It pained her to hear his moans of agony. She couldn’t stand them.

“Why do you torture yourself?” Skye stood next to her, looking worried.

Simmons looked up from her place on the floor next to the closed door to Fitz’s room. She spent the last half an hour straining her ears to hear anything coming from his room, to pick up soft whines full of pain that were to be expected. There was nothing she could do, but she couldn’t make herself leave that spot, part of her hoping he would call and she would finally be able to do something useful then, something that would help ease his suffering even a little.

He never called.

“I don’t.” Simmons denied.

“Then why are you sitting here?”

It was a good question. She wanted to go inside, to be with him, to hold his hands and kiss his forehead to make it better, but she couldn’t. Every time he tried to move resulted in nausea, so he just lay in his bed, buried under a blanket, head tucked under his arm to block out everything around him. He couldn’t stand light and he would wake up the moment someone entered the room, his sharpened hearing catching the sound of footsteps no matter how quiet she tried to be. Sleep was the only thing taking his pain away, so she was determined to not wake him up. Which left her there, on a cold concrete floor outside of the dark and uncaring door to his room. She was like an electron, being pulled closer by Fitz’s proton but at the same time kept away by the electron shield of the closed door, incapable of getting closer nor breaking away.

“I’ve finished my work in the lab for today. Fitz’s migraine started around nine hours ago, so it should be over soon. He will be hungry then.” Simmons tried to explain.

“He will come to the kitchen when he feels better. No need to guard his door, it won’t run away.” Skye didn’t seem convinced. Not even the tiniest bit.

“I can’t just leave him all alone with this, Skye.” She added. “It’s my fault he’s going through this. I can’t give him any painkillers. Standard ones don’t work and I can’t give him anything stronger. He’s taking too many meds already, I can’t mix them.” She bit her lower lip going through this problem yet again, not finding any satisfying solution. “No painkiller will work well with the meds that he started taking recently, not like with his old ones. Side effects. So now he has to just bear with it and wait until it passes.” Simmons was silent for a while, thinking about how much she should say, then looked away from Skye. “It was me who decide to change his meds.” She admitted. “I’d known it would make using painkillers impossible. I... I thought that it would be better. That it’s better if it’s just physical pain bothering him, not conflicted emotions tearing him apart from the inside, because of meds affecting his hormones.”

“You keep forgetting that he agreed.” Skye pointed out, because seriously, how often can one dwell on the same topic and repeat the same conversation? “You asked him about this, and he agreed for it. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did everything wrong.” She didn’t want to even start counting her latest mistakes regarding Fitz. Not again.

Once, for example, when his migraines were still a new thing, she made him his favourite sandwich, hoping that it would cheer him up a little, give him some comfort. He ran away from the room the moment he smelled it, his face even paler than before. She should have predicted that bringing smelly meat to a sick person wouldn’t end well. He couldn’t even eat anything normal with this headache. Now she knew better: she limited her interferences to bringing him water and some porridge and sitting on the corridor right next to his door, listening to his quiet cries in case he wanted something. Anything.

“You’re helping him. You saved him.” Skye was persistent in her mission to take Simmons out of her black pit of misery.

“Did I?” Simmons circled her arms around her knees, and rested her jaw on them. “I dragged him out. But not all of him.” They were both quiet for a few seconds, Simmons going over sad thoughts that were plaguing her lately, Skye wondering what she could say to make it better. “I didn’t do this for him.” She admitted breaking the silence with her trembling voice. “I did this for myself. I couldn’t live without him. I just... couldn’t. I was not thinking about what he wanted, about how it would end, how he would change after we got out. I knew there was no chance of him getting out unscratched. Still, I couldn’t leave without him. That was all I could think about. I couldn’t, that would destroy me. More than drowning. Was I egoistic then? Since I didn’t care what pieces of him would be lost as long as there was still even the smallest chance of him staying with me?”

“He’s alive thanks to you.”

“And does he look happy about it?” She snapped.

Skye was silent for a moment, not understanding what Simmons was talking about.

“You regret saving him?” She tried with the worst possibility.

“No!” Simmons shout and immediately looked at the door, scared that her outburst might have woken Fitz up. “No, Dear Lord, no, never. But every day I regret I didn’t swim faster. That I hadn’t tried harder. Back then every millisecond was worth his weight in gold.”

“You’ve done everything you could.” Skye tried to reason with her, getting more and more uncomfortable with each second.

“Have I? How do you know that Skye? I could have swum faster. I could, I know that. I could have ignored my tiredness and forced my legs and arms to move faster.”

_Silence._

“Fitz is alive, that all that matters.” Skye looked like she wanted to be somewhere far away. She hadn’t signed up for this.

“When I reached the surface I took a deep breath, Skye. My lungs were burning. I took one breath, back in the pod, just after the glass shattered, then I swam 90 feet up, then I reached the surface. There was a fire in my lungs so I took a deep breath. And only then did I take Fitz’s head out of the water. If my lungs were burning then, what about his? He didn’t take a breath in the pod, because I took it away from him. And then I let him breath only after myself, Skye. Even though he needed it more than I did. I should have pushed him first.” Her voice was almost a whisper now, and her lips twisted when she was no longer capable of steeling them.

Skye was looking at her, searching desperately for something to say, for some argument that would twist that logic.

“Simmons, that was just a split of second.” She muttered finally with tiredness and resignation.

“And how many of his brain cells died in that split of second?” Simmons could easily calculate that, but she didn’t want to work on this hypothesis anymore. “Maybe the ones responsible for his speech? Or movement? Or maybe the ones causing his migraine? In brain damage every millisecond is important.”

Skye couldn’t find the answer to her question. So she answered _the real one_ instead.

“Nobody blames you Simmons. Nobody but you. Least of all Fitz.”

Simmons remained silent and unconvinced. Skye looked at her for a moment, but there was nothing left for her to say, so she just patted her head trying to reassure her and went back to work. Simmons bit her lip and forced herself to go back to analysing a simulation of chemical reactions on her tablet.

“Being overprotective doesn’t help anyone,” she heard May’s voice right above her head, “It only weakens. Makes a person look for support in matters that they could easily handle on their own.”

Simmons just looked at older agent not knowing what to say, startled by the thought of how much she could have heard.

“And if you had fainted because you’ve denied yourself taking a breath,” May continued apparently not expecting an answer at all. “Both of you would be dead. Some tactical decisions may seem egoistical, but are necessary.” With that she simply left, leaving Simmons alone with her thoughts.

Less than thirty minutes later May was finishing her video conference with Coulson, reporting about the latest events at the Playground.

“As for Simmons,” she said looking pointedly at the screen. “She’s reaching her limit.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I know that by the time Simmons reached the surface Fitz’s lungs were probably full of water so he couldn’t breathe anyway, but still I think that Simmons would wonder if it wouldn’t be better for him if he was out of water a second sooner. I guess she would still blame herself.  
> \- I wondered for a long time if this chapter is really necessary, but I figured that since I’ve already written it I may as well post it.  
> \- Thanks to TheLateNightStoryTeller, amandajoyce118 and hazel-elizabeth-stark for beta reading.


	8. How much biochemistry is in mechanical engineering? (Part 1)

The first time Coulson told her about the mission Simmons laughed in his face. Well, she more like laughed at the _projection_ of his face displayed on the monitor, but still, that must have certainly not been the answer The Director was expecting. Just the idea of her infiltrating Hydra was ridiculous. Seriously, she couldn’t convince a four-year-old that she had no sweets to share, let alone make and hold a convincing cover personality. But the mere idea of her leaving Fitz in his current state was far beyond ridiculous. Yes, there were not enough active agents and S.H.I.E.L.D. needed everyone, and yes, mission objectives were crucial for the organisation’s future, and she had to admit that there were moments when being in the Playground was hard and painful for her, but how could Coulson even think that she would want to go away?

No way.

She had so much to do in there. She had to help Fitz. She had to figure out how to do that. It didn’t matter that it hurt her, she had to be strong and bear with it. It was worth it. They were worth it. There were bad days, days when she was lost, days when she was useless, days when it all hurt, but there were good days too. True, the good days now were mere shadows of normal days from their past, but she was still grateful to have them. Sometimes Fitz would smile and the whole day was brighter. For a moment she could pretend everything was as it used to be. That everything was all right. It was worth waiting for.

But the seeds had already been sown. This one conversation with Coulson made her wonder. A tiny little part of her mind started bringing it up in the worst possible moments. Made her wonder how things would be if she was somewhere else. Made her notice things she would rather ignore. Like how Fitz was more frustrated with his new incapabilities when she was near and could witness another failed attempt at something. Made her remember that it was her fault for not swimming fast enough. For letting him sacrifice himself for her wellbeing. It made her remember that when she woke up in the pod she had only a bruise on her face while he had broken his arm protecting her from the fall. How she had left the pod with minor decompression sickness, while he lost so much, much more. Each time she thought about it, Coulson’s offer seemed more and more real for her. It started to creep into her mind after rough days, when she was sitting alone in her room, at a loss for what to do. This tiny part of her mind was getting stronger each time it spoke.

* * *

 The second time Coulson told her about the mission, she just twisted her lips and shook her head, not wanting to dwell over the topic.

She should be there for Fitz. For her best friend. He needed help, he needed someone who would be there for him, to make this horror of getting used to his new life just a little easier. Someone he could trust, someone who would make him feel safer, more at home. Who would that be if not her? They were best friends. They knew everything about each other. She knew what his favourite sandwich was, she knew what he was insecure about, and how his intelligence and engineering were the only good things he had ever found in himself. How he believed it to be the only reason people valued him, even though there were many of wonderful traits in him she could so easily see. She knew how he lost his temper when he was feeling helpless, how he was more snarky when he was tired. How each and every monkey figurine in his bunk was named. How he preferred good old 2H and 4B pencils when he was writing or making notes but switched immediately to propelling pencils when he was drawing. She knew he had six of them (5H, 0.2 2H, 0.4 2H, 0.7 HB, 2B, 4B and 7B) each for different purpose and with its own place in his pencil case along with his four technical pens, all with the same black flower on them (she tried to make fun of him about this back at Sci-Ops. “They are way cheaper and not so smudgy, seriously Simmons, I won’t pay for a fancy logo and easy grip.”). She knew what else was in there: blue and red pencils (“They’re not crayons! Do I look like a kid?”) that she could never figure out the purpose for, since she had never seen him using them. She knew he hadn’t even touched his pencil case since his accident. His hands shook too much to draw a straight line.

She thought she knew everything, could guess every thought Fitz had even before he said it. She was so sure of that, of their psychical compatibility.

She hadn’t noticed for months that Fitz was in love with her. That wasn’t “I prefer bird cherries to sour cherries” level of surprise and oversight. That was huge. What else hadn’t she noticed?

Now that she knew, what did she do? Nothing. She was trying not to think about it, planned to avoid the topic, because she had no idea what to tell him. She loved him, of that she was sure. What she was not sure about, was in what way she loved him. He was always with her- he was an integral part of her life, she couldn't even imagine it without him. She never had to. Did that mean she loved Fitz the same way he did? This wasn’t an easy question, not something she could take lightly. She couldn't use a litmus paper to test if it was platonic love or the one and only, romantic kind of love. So how could she even start talking about it with him? She couldn't answer him, since she had no answer. Couldn’t say “yes” when she wasn't sure, because Fitz deserved the best, someone that would give him the whole world, not wavering and hesitating probation that could end in a disaster if she was mistaken, and break his heart even more than she already did. Yet, she was unable to say no, not when she knew it would lock the door to romantic relationship with Fitz forever. She wasn’t ready to give up on the possibility. Because maybe, just maybe what she felt for him was indeed The Real Love, all capital letters, eternal sunshine and rainbows, what then? She knew he deserved an answer and she should give him one instead of keeping him trapped in limbo, but she didn’t have one and she hated it. She needed time to think about this in peace. But how could she do that when she struggled every day to treat him just the same way she used to, trying to ignore her confusing feelings each time their eyes locked, not knowing whether she should keep looking at him or take her eyes off him.

She was an awful friend. If someone else did this to Fitz, treating his precious, kind heart that way, she would break their spine. Well, more probably poison infect their food, she wasn't strong enough for the Bone Breaking Business.

* * *

 Third time Coulson told her about the mission, she was silent, waiting for him to move to another subject.

She Fitz were together for years. Always there for each other in good and bad. Mostly good, since nothing really bad had ever happened to them. Until now. And it was breaking them both. They were so used to being together, that she almost forgot how to be just her.

It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t good to be so tied up with someone that you lost your sense of self. Fitz was her best friend in the world, the person closest to her, and she loved him in a way that was still a mystery to her. A person she always saw as a part of her life, always included in her dream future. A person who sacrificed himself for her. And what did she have to offer? She didn’t have anything that was purely her own to give to him. They shared everything already, everything was FitzSimmons, so there was no Simmons to give to Fitz.

She always thought it was a good thing. When they finally started being friends in the Academy, when she finally found someone she could talk to, who understood her, she was so happy. They were beside each other constantly. They shared every tiny bit of their lives. That seemed like a good foundation for a life-long relationship. 

_She was so young._

How could she hope to fix Fitz when she wasn’t complete herself? And it wasn’t even because Fitz was such a great part of her life. No. They were so tight they were almost linked, that was true. For years they were both entwined around each other, like ivy. Which was nice and comfortable when there were no obstacles to face. The problem with ivy wass that it didn’t give support, it stole it from the other. They were both sharing even the tiniest burdens in their lives and not making themselves stronger, because it was easier that way. How could she think it would work forever? Nobody could constantly hold on to the other person. Ivy was not a good relationship model. Two people in a tram was. Standing on their own two feet, looking at each other and around them, and when a bump on the road came, catching and stabilizing the other, not letting them fall. That way when one lost balance, the other was still standing and supporting them until they could stand on their own again. Still strong enough for the two of them. Fitzsimmons should be two strong people. Not two people as strong as one. 

Fitz wasn’t the only one who had to rebuild himself. She had to do this too. They should both be strong on their own first. 

She had to be a whole person before being in a relationship, being a part of a whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Again, I promised short scenes and this chapter is long, so I split it in two.  
> \- A High Five to anyone who can guess which brand of technical pens Fitz uses or what’s the deal with blue and red pencils :)  
> \- Thanks to TheLateNightStoryTeller and amandajoyce118 for beta reading.  
> \- May I add, there’s a strong correlation between feedback and motivation ;)


	9. How much biochemistry is in mechanical engineering? (Part 2)

The fourth time Coulson told her about the mission, she was just staring at her fingers, clutched in her sweater sleeve.

_The ivy was poisonous._

She wasn't stupid, she had known Fitz for years. She had noticed how his hands were shaking more the closer she was standing. She had noticed how his speech didn't improve since she just couldn't stop herself from speaking for him, not capable of watching him struggle when his thoughts couldn't be put into words. She saw how he was more nervous when she was watching, more concerned with the possibility of letting her down than he was with getting better. He was relying on her more and more, giving up faster than he should. She was halting Fitz’s recovery and the fact was harder to deny with each passing day.

And then, there was the cloaking device.

Coulson insisted on seeing some results as soon as possible, wanted it done last week, and he was asking her about progress every chance he got, never going to Fitz with this, because “He knows the subject may be sensitive and he doesn’t want to upset or worry his best engineer.” In short he was afraid to ask Fitz directly and so she had to do the dirty job. And she hated herself for referring to talking with Fitz as _the dirty job_.

She wasn’t an engineer. She knew basics, enough to understand that Fitz’s ideas and designs were brilliant and worked well with her own parts of solution. But she didn’t know enough to help him design a cloaking device. There was not that much biochemistry in that one. Almost none. She couldn’t help him. When he showed her some charts of electrical conductivity for different materials and kept showing her a part of it with both confusion and insistence, she couldn’t even figure out the question, let alone the answer to it. She didn't know the laws and rules he was desperately searching for. He was always the one to solve the physics and electronics problems, while she took care of biochemistry. She was regretting that she had never taken any classes in the field of mechanical engineering- her knowledge was far too shallow and limited to help with anything. She always counted on Fitz doing his part and never stopped to fully understand all the details. She just saw the end result, knowing he would work it out. Now he needed help finding his way in the world of mechanics and she couldn’t do anything.

Still, she was determined to read every book about mechanics if that would help. She was smart, she could complete a basic engineering course in a year or two if she wanted to. She was sure she could learn enough to help him. She wasn’t afraid of hard work.

It was the book that really broke her.

It took her twelve days to find out what this blue and yellow book was that Fitz kept mentioning over and over, like it was a lifeline that would save him from this madness of unsolved problems.

It wasn’t even her who actually got what he meant and found it. No, it was some young guy, a low level mechanic responsible for inventory checks, who hadn’t even managed to graduate from the Academy before S.H.I.E.L.D. collapsed. Apparently it was a textbook for Mathematical Analysis every cadet in engineering was studying from. Apparently every engineering student knew this book. The guy brought his own copy and gave it to Fitz, arms shaking a little with nervousness, as if he was facing royalty, mumbling how _Agent Fitz sir can keep it, it's nothing_. Fitz ( _ju-just Fitz, please_ ) took it and smiled while stuttering his thanks. Really smiled, teeth and everything.

She smiled too, because it was such a nice little moment, but ended up crying in her room a while after. She knew it was stupid to get mad at this guy for helping when she didn’t, but couldn’t stop her tears from falling. Because she hated being useless. How hard could finding a stupid book be? She failed even in that, and it was just one little thing too much.

She didn’t have any strength left. Not even a tiny bit.

She didn’t know how to help Fitz with the cloaking, and there was no way he would start working with other engineers while she was there. That made her realise what she was about to do. She was seriously thinking of studying to become an engineer. To take Fitz’s place. How could that help in long run? Replacing him in the field he was having troubles with was not the answer. Fitz had to learn to do things on his own. She had to learn to do things on her own. She couldn’t count on Fitz for everything for the rest of her life.

This codependency of theirs would destroy them.

She noticed later that Fitz never opened the book. She understood then. He was afraid of whether he would be able to solve the equation he had treated as a fun exercise back at the Academy. Didn’t want her to see if he couldn’t handle them anymore.

There was no more denying that she was making him worse. They were no longer greater than the sum of their parts. Now together there were less than apart. She couldn’t help him anymore. She was barely holding herself in one piece, let alone putting Fitz back together. She was making him worse.

She was ivy and ivy was poisonous.

* * *

The fifth time it was her who went to Coulson and asked about the mission.

She had tons of questions and doubts and reasons why it wouldn’t work. She wasn’t the right person, and Colson should understand that she was not good enough for this. For starters, she couldn’t lie. She had no combat training. She knew nothing about espionage. She tended to babble uncontrollably when she was nervous.

“Besides, I can’t hold a convincing cover personality,” were the first words that left her mouth when she entered the Director’s office.

Coulson was just looking at her for a while from behind his desk.

“That’s why your cover personality would be yourself.” He answered simply and tilted his head at the chair for her to sit on.

Hearing that, she threw another argument. And another one and then another. She was trying so hard to convince him that it was not a good idea, that she would fail in the mission and surely there was a better candidate for it.

Each and every argument she could come up with was met with his counterargument and crumbled under pressure.

Coulson refused to give her a reason to back off.

_So, she had to agree._

“I will. I will take this mission,” she surrendered. “I will do my best to help S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Good.” Coulson smiled. “I never doubted you, Agent Simmons.”

* * *

There was no time for preparations, let alone any training. She spent two evenings with May who tried to teach her the basics and the most important things. Rules that would keep her alive. Simmons, as always, intended to follow them with all her might.

Coulson advised her to go without saying anything to anyone. No goodbye. No hint that she may disappear. Not even a single word to anyone. He had said it would be easier that way. She agreed, because it sounded rational, and really, who was she to disagree? How could she look anyone in the eye and tell them she’s going to work for Hydra? Skye wouldn’t let her; she would probably cry. Trip would try to make her laugh and spend her last evenings doing some stupid things with the rest of the team. She wasn’t in the mood for either. She didn’t want to even try thinking about what Fitz would do. There was a lot of packing to be done.

At least she managed to synthesize a cure for Fitz. Kind of. She made pills that lessened his migraines without reacting with his other meds. At least she could do one thing to help her friend.

She was determined to not say anything, but then she was in the lab on her last day, her hands a little shaky with nervousness, with Fitz throwing her questioning glances and waiting, as always, for her to spit out what was bothering her.

It was when she dropped a vial and it shattered near her feet, liquid spilling over the hard floor with a hiss, that it occurred to her: there was no guarantee that she would come back. No guarantee that she would ever have another chance to talk with him. Something could happen, the mission could fail and she could get captured or worse. She had to say goodbye to Fitz. She had to. She couldn’t leave him without a last hug.

She turned to him, looked into his waiting, warm eyes radiating with calm safety and reassurance, and tried to even her breath.

She told him she was going to see her parents soon, part of her knowing she couldn’t lie to save her life, knowing that she couldn’t fool him, not Fitz. He knew her too well. Part of her desperately wanted him to call her on this. To prove how ridiculous the idea was and force her to stay with him. She didn’t know what else to say, since there were so many things she wanted to tell him, but couldn’t because they were too difficult or confidential. She did what she always did: she started rambling, reminding him to take his medicines and do his physiotherapy and be careful in the lab and eat healthy and not eat too much junk food, and to take a break from work every once in a while and not worry about the cloaking progress, because he’s almost done, just a little bit of patience and he would be there...

“I can survive a week on my own, Jemma. Stop worrying,” He interrupted her with a weak smile. “Go see them, rest a little, it would be good for you. I will take care of myself for a while.”

She just nodded and bit her lip when she felt tears coming to her eyes. She wanted to hug him but knew that if she did this, she wouldn't be able to stop, so she just held herself tightly with her arms and kept her eyes low, not capable of looking at him, afraid that she would just go to him and do something stupid, like spilling the truth. If she let herself stay any longer she wouldn’t be able to look him in the face and force herself to tell another lie. So she took a step back, looked at him one more time and tried to be strong.

“I still have a lot of packing to do. Coulson can call me any time, so I should probably go, get ready.”

He nodded and tried to smile reassuringly.

“Take care, Fitz.” She curled her fingers into a fist and put one foot back, shifting her weight onto it. “Bye.” She told him, sounding hollow even to her own ears. She forced herself to quickly turn away and go to the door with false energy she couldn’t feel in her body.

He didn’t follow her.

* * *

She had to wait till 2 am and Coulson told her it was time to leave. Was it safer for her to leave in the middle of the night, or was it better for the Playground’s safety? Either way, the base was silent and everyone was asleep. She took her suitcase and handed it to May, who was waiting at her door. Simmons took the other one and followed the senior agent down the halls of the Playground. She was determined to do her job well. She was determined to keep her back straight and her footsteps even and be brave and strong, because there was no going back. She had already turned the whole situation over in her head enough times to be sure she had chosen the best solution. Maybe not the happiest, easiest one, but the best for her and Fitz.

She was full of determination until she saw his door and unconsciously slowed down, thinking about things she shouldn't. Like the fact that Fitz was sleeping like a log, nothing could wake him up at night thanks to his meds. How he wouldn't wake up even if she were to pay him a short visit. Just to look at him one last time. Or maybe to whisper the truth, since he wouldn't be able to hear it.

_Bad idea._

She gripped the handle of her suitcase harder and looked ahead of her. Straight at May who was standing still and looking at her with a face that could mean anything and nothing.

“Go on.” May told her, tilting her head at the door.

Simmons looked at her for a while and dropped her suitcase on the floor, nodding slightly with gratitude while touching the doorknob and opening the door.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the green light of a digital clock standing on a nightstand and tiny red lights of numerous electronic devices in sleeping mode. They were around her, like silent guardians watching over him, ready to act at the first call of need. Thanks to them, she could see Fitz hidden in shadows after her eyes got used to the darkness and limited light.

He was asleep, curled up on his right side under his cover, one hand under his pillow, his breathing deep and calm.

_So peaceful._

She tiptoed closer, sat on the floor right next to him, and took a deep breath.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I have to go. It will be better that way, you will see.” She couldn’t stop the flood of words anymore. “I was making you worse. When I disappear, you will be getting better. You will again be able to do everything you want. Just wait. You just need to be patient with yourself, Fitz. You're almost there. Without me interrupting your recovery, you will be back in good shape in no time. When I’m back, you will be all better. Because I will be back. As soon as I can. I will be back and then everything will be better.”

She took a strand of curls out of his forehead and caressed bare skin with the tips of her fingers. Then she bent over him and kissed his temple lightly, because who knew when she would have another chance to see him? It was a terrible idea, because once she started she couldn’t stop herself. She kissed his forehead, because he would stay here all alone, and she wouldn't be there with him. She kissed his nose, because she had to go and couldn't tell him and he won't even know she was there, that she came to him before leaving. She kissed his left cheek because she wanted to stay with him and forget all about Hydra. She kissed his earlobe because something could go wrong and she could be unable to come back, she could die there and never see him again. She kissed his jaw because she couldn't even hug him goodbye and have a proper farewell and that was cruel. She kissed his chin because she wanted to do this.

She stopped, looking at his lips.

They looked so soft.

Maybe, maybe it would answer her curiosity and confusion. If emotions were just biochemical reactions, then why had no one ever come up with a chemical test for love? That would be so helpful. Instead she was here, considering this test. Maybe if she just tried, she would know for sure.

That didn’t feel right. No. That felt like using him. And the fact that he was asleep. That didn’t feel fair. That would make her a coward. Fitz was a brave person and she had to be brave too. Not run away. Not choose the easiest option.

Besides, it wasn’t the right time. Fitz needed help, needed to get better, and she was making him worse. It wasn’t the time for her to focus on her curiosity and confusion. She had to focus on helping him, not herself. She needed to regain his trust first and learn how to support him without making them both weak.

“Goodbye, Fitz.” she murmured and kissed his forehead, caressed his short locks for the last time and stood up. She gave her best friend one last look and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The blue and yellow book that Fitz was looking for is based on a textbook for Mathematical Analysis from my own studies. It was the best, everybody used it, the title and author’s names were long and difficult, so everyone just called it “the blue and yellow one”, and we always known exactly which one.
> 
> \- Thanks to TheLateNightStoryTeller and amandajoyce118 for beta reading.


	10. Hero by Night

During the days Simmons was a traitor.

She was working for an evil terrorist organisation- a good employee, helping them, giving them answers, even though she knew what they could use it for.

She was too afraid of blowing her cover, well aware that she couldn't lie, so she had to work truthfully to be convincing, to avoid Hydra finding out she's not one of them.

_She's a mole. She’s a traitor._

For her friends she was a coward. The one who ran away when everything stopped being safe and simple, who left her team, didn't even say goodbye and cut off every contact they had with each other.

_A coward. A traitor._

For her best friend she was the one, who ran away when things got complicated. The one who betrayed his trust, who was supposed to be by his side all the time and yet disappeared, gave up.

_The betrayer. The traitor._

During the days she was one of the bad ones.

-o-

During most of nights she was a hero.

At first she had trouble falling asleep, missing her own bed, even though technically speaking, she was laying in it.

Soon she got used to it: days full of lies and fear exhausted her to the point where she couldn’t deny herself sleeping- the only moment when everything could be right.

She had dreams before, back at the Playground. They started right after the pod, but were not often: one, two per week. At Hydra, they were coming to her more often, sometimes every night, sometimes more than once per night. Back in the Playground she saw the team and Fitz every day, which calmed her subconsciousness enough not to torment her with frightening visions during night. Yes, falling asleep was troublesome back then, but when she finally managed to do it, she hadn’t had any dreams. Now constant tiredness lulled her to sleep the moment she laid her head on her pillow. Then the dreams came, usually waking her up in the end. She was restless.

The dreams were different, but similar at the same time.

She even started classifying them.

* * *

**CLASS 1: Decisions made in a split second**

They were the short ones. Just a series of images and words, her surrounding not important enough to notice it, since she always knew where she was.

 

#1.1 Cuba.

_They are watching the Bus from afar. Fitz turns around to go for the D.W.A.R.F.s. She's listening for a while, focused and careful. She hears some noise outside._

_“Fitz, wait.” She tries to shout and be quiet at the same time. Not the best idea. “I think I’ve heard something.”_

_Fitz stops and moves his eyes between her and the door. There is a sound of footsteps coming closer and closer._

_They don't say anything, just run to the back door. She opens them the moment that the handle of the front door moves. They run away from the building just before it’s infiltrated by Ward. She saves them._

 

#1.2. Cuba.

_They are watching the Bus from afar. She talks with Coulson over the phone. She hangs up and tells Fitz what she heard._

_“We would be back to square one again.” She says and looks at Fitz, who waits for her to finish her thought. They've known each other for so long, seeing that she wants to add something more is not a challenge to him._

_“I can't...” She started. “Let's just run away.”_

_“What?”_

_“I can't stand this anymore. It's not what we signed for. There are six of us against the whole world. We could just run away. Stay somewhere safe.”_

_“We can't leave them, Simmons. Coulson trusts us, we can't betray him. We have to keep fighting.”_

_Oh, Fitz. Loyal as always. She should have known he wouldn't agree to just run away only because things got dangerous._

_“Please. Let's just... Leave this place. There's nothing more we can do in here, let's just go back to the motel.”_

_He nods._

_They return safely._

 

#1.3. Cuba.

_Coulson tells them what their mission is. Tells them to watch and not engage._

_“Sir,” she interrupts him. “Maybe Fitz and I should stay. We are not specialists, we know nothing about espionage and tracking. We can stay here, secure the base, keep the coms going, coordinate everything. There's not much we can do in the field.”_

_Coulson watches her for a short while._

_“Good idea. We shouldn't engage everybody. You two stay here.”_

 

The ones in class 1 were the easiest. The ones that woke her slowly and made her lay in her bed watching the wall with hollow eyes. It was so easy. And yet she had failed.

-o-

The first thing she did when she started working undercover, the thing she did on the very first morning, in her new flat that was so alien and far from truly hers, was cut her long hair. She just stared at herself in the mirror for a while, went to the kitchen and grabbed the scissors lying on the counter. She cut it short, gathered it from the floor and stuffed in a trash bin.

It had so little impact on her, which was surprising. In the evening she went to a hairdresser so that the ends didn't look like messy, and just sat there feeling numb.

It was surprisingly good for her and helped a lot. After she cut it, she couldn't recognise her reflection in the mirror, not at first glance. Thanks to that, the first face that greeted her in the morning wasn't twisted in disgust.

She had to bring herself together. If she broke even more than she already had, she wouldn’t help anyone. So she struggled. Fixed everything the moment she spotted a problem. Added more cosmetics to her make up when she noticed how pale she looked. When she noticed she kept forgetting to eat she turned on an alert in her cellphone, so she could stuff something that tasted like ash into her stomach. After waking up she forced herself to smile the first thing in the morning, to fend depression away, and forced herself to stand up because if she didn’t proceed with her mission, everything she sacrificed would be for nothing. She had to fix it if she wanted to help Fitz fix himself.

She almost managed to do that. But her nails were beyond repair, since she would break them in a split second of weakness and she couldn’t find time to take care of them, to make them straight or put polish on them. She couldn’t find time for this, she was repeating to herself, so as not to admit that it was care for herself she was truly lacking.

* * *

**CLASS 2: Silent fire**

They were the other dreams. The ones she hated. The ones that woke her with deadly silence and crushing weight of wrongness along with muscles treacherously screaming for action.

 

#2.1.Cuba.

_They are watching the Bus from afar. Fitz turns around to go back to their car and take the D.W.A.R.F.s. The door opens. Ward. Traitor. Threat. She takes the gun and shoots him before he finishes speaking. She cries, but Fitz grabs her hand and pulls her to the back door. They run away._

 

#2.2. The Providence.

_Ward is sitting on a chair in her lab while she carefully stitches his wounds. Fitz looks over her shoulder, concerned. She puts away the needle, takes a vial and applies the liquid on cut flesh. Ward hisses in pain, but she just shushes him. Two days later the corruption starts. Three days later he dies from poisoning. Nothing she could do to prevent it._

_S_ _kye is in tears and Fitz is grieving but alive and well._

 

#2.3. the Bus.

_She turns away and looks back for the last time in her whole life. She sees Fitz, hitting the lab’s glass door, screaming something she can’t hear with the wind howling around her, yanking at her hair and throwing it at her eyes. She smiles at him lightly, because he would be safe and sound._

_She falls down from the plane and falls and falls and falls, a scream escaping her lips even though she promised herself she would be brave._

_She falls and sees another shape following her. Ward. He gets closer and catches her, touches her lap with something, electronic impulse kicking her flesh. Everything goes black._

_When she can see again she’s in the cold water of the sea, kept over the surface by Ward’s strong arm. He’s just beside her, tangled in lines of his parachute. He has a little trouble with pulling out of them._

_He jumped out of the plane to save her life._

_It will be the last mistake in his life._

_She’s not sure how she manages to force his head underwater and keep it there long enough, the details are all blurred, but she can see clearly when he stops fighting back and struggling against her hold, when he stops moving._

_She starts crying._

 

She woke up from those dreams with cheeks moist with silent tears. She was not a killer. She was a scientist, a biologist. She was meant to help people, not to yearn for revenge. She hated her body and hormones calling for blood. She hated Ward for reducing her to this.

-o-

The people in the lab weren't so bad. Not at the first glance. She was too afraid to look deeper. She focused on work and intel. Sometimes she wasn't sure what their research was used for. Sometimes she was perfectly aware of its meaning.

She didn't know which one was worse.

Sometimes she would get excited over her experiments and data. They were so interesting that for a moment she forgot where she was and what she was doing. It was pure instinct telling her to raise her head to call for Fitz and show him what she found, only to stare at strangers in black lab coats and go back to her vials a few seconds later, lips set into a tight line. The science wasn’t a bad thing, it was just science. The implications of some of her research could become a source for scientific breakthrough. They could help save so many people. They could kill even more. Still, Hydra research was theoretically interesting and she was caught up in analysing data and wondering about possibilities more often than she would like to admit.

She didn’t know what that made her.

* * *

**CLASS 3: Decisions and what follows**

They were the ones where she made a decision to change the future.

 

#3.1. Sci-Ops.

_“It’s the most perfect opportunity for us to see the world. We'd be fools to pass this one up.”_

_“Come on Simmons, what’s out there that can't be done in here? This lab is perfectly fine, they can bring us everything they find out and you can experiment to your heart’s content. No need to go into field. You want to travel, we can take a week off and go wherever we want, no need to wait for a mission, no bullets flying over our heads, no work to be done, just exploring. What can we really do in the field? We're scientists not specialists.”_

_She wants to tell him he’s just afraid, because this always works, but she stops herself, takes a deep breath. Looks at him, at his blue eyes, clear as sky, without doubt and anxiety clouding them._

_“You're right. We haven’t even passed our field assessments. That's a stupid idea. Besides, their lab is so small and boring. Let's stay here.”_

_He smiles at her. They go to Rome a week later. Just for a trip - sightseeing, relaxing, laughing. Together. They go to South Tyrol for a conference next month and make a detour to Bolzano because she wants to see Ötzi. Fitz is complaining the whole way about corpses being simply gross no matter the circumstances, but still stands by her side when she watches the mummy._

 

#3.2. the Academy.

_They are the youngest graduates in the history of the Academy. They both stand in her room, smiling with excitement, looking at their diplomas and a pile of job offers lying on her desk. They promised each other to look at them together, just after the ceremony. On top of both piles lays the one with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s black eagle. There are also some other, but she doesn’t even give them a look, just takes the first one and opens it._

_Sci-Ops._

_Exactly what they’ve both wanted._

_Their own lab in Sci-Ops. An opportunity to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. in one of their best, most dynamic scientific facilities._

_They could stay together, get a level up, see even more wonders of the world. Have a new, exciting experience every day._

_She looks at Fitz, reading his own file with a big smile on his face. Happy._

_Dropping her eyes to look at her file again she furrows her brows. Quickly putting it back on the table, she starts looking through the others, until she sees it, all white and black, with a hint of silver catching light and reflecting it right into her eyes. She looks at Fitz’s pile and sees a similar one._

_In a second she takes it out and opens it._

_“Fitz,” she calls him and he abandons his task to look at her, waiting to hear what she has to say. “Maybe we could join Stark Industries instead of staying with S.H.I.E.L.D.?”_

_His confused look is the only answer she gets._

_“That way we would have the same level of equipment in our lab, almost the same opportunities without having to worry about all this secret-confidential-level stuff. No politics to get in the middle of our work. And if we were good, and let’s face it, we would be great, we will have a much bigger budget to work with than we could ever have in S.H.I.E.L.D.” She stops talking, looking at him unsure, trying to gauge his reaction._

_“Why this sudden change?” He asks. “You were determined to stay with S.H.I.E.L.D.”_

_“Well, yes, but you know. Staying with the spy agency is kind of the decision that sticks with you your whole life. We’re still young, maybe we could try something else before tying our whole future to one decision. Maybe... Maybe we could just try something else first,” she ends lamely not sure which words to use._

_“Yeah, but will we be able to work together in Stark’s company?”_

_“He would be a fool to split us up. And he has many flaws but being a fool is certainly not one of them.” She smiles and he returns it after a while, while nodding his head._

_“Sure, we can try that one out.”_

 

#3.3. the Academy.

_The chem lab. She sees the name of her assigned partner. Leopold Fitz, engineering. She looks over the crowd, sees his profile. She looks for a long while with some nudging thought in the back of her head. With a thought of things that are yet to come. With chain of events that has a source in this exact moment. She takes a deep breath and go to the teacher to ask for reassignment._

_He will be safer that way._

 

These ones always woke her unsure. Was this a happy ending? Some of them were for sure. Even if some of them were painful for her, they were better for Fitz. She made a different decision, the right one, and Fitz followed his fate to a different ending. Better. For him. There were so many other opportunities. They both had better options. She should have known better than to push them to join some experimental “special” team. She should have listened to him more, he was always wise, why didn’t she listen? It was her decisions that led them both here. He followed her. It was her fault.

-o-

She wanted to work in the field so much. To prove that she was a true agent, not only some boring lab rat. Now she had her chance. Funny how sometimes you want something so much, put so much effort and sacrifices in obtaining it, and then, when you finally get it, you see it’s just worthless ash, falling through your fingers only to make your hands sticky with disappointment.

She wanted to be in the field and now she was- undercover at Hydra. That was some serious James Bond level spying. A very responsible and important task, a mission for a true pro. Exactly what she hoped for when she signed for Coulson’s team- an opportunity to prove herself, to show the others that maybe under a nice girl in a sweater, following the rules and drinking tea; maybe was something more, something like a hidden badass.

Here was her chance and yet everything was wrong.

She wanted to stay. She wanted to stay in the Playground, safely hidden behind thick walls made of brick, in a location wiped from maps, out of any radar. She wanted her tea and her bed and staying late watching movies with Fitz, not a care in the world. That was a world that made sense.

Each time she was dreaming about the real missions, she always pictured the two of them together.

It was always her and Fitz, in the field or even undercover. Together as always. They could pass as a duo of scientists, or even as a couple. They would work together, plan together, exchange intel and support each other. Somehow each time she pictured herself undercover, Fitz was there with her. They would be lying during the days, pretending to be someone else, but when things would get bad, she could knock on his door and he would hug her and they would figure it out together.

Now she was alone.

* * *

**CLASS 4: Waiting. Too long.**

They were the ones when she could go back in time and erase the mistake caused by her hesitation. By her waiting for things to change on their own instead of taking matters into her own hands.

 

#4.1. the Hub

_She runs as fast as she can. She heard through the radio the conversation they had with Garret. She heard his threats. She heard how brave Fitz was. Again. As always. Why is she even surprised by this?_

_She runs fast, praying so she won’t be too late._

_She’s not. They all made it on time. She sees him and runs to him, hugs him, because he’s alive, he’s all right, he’s here in her arms, shaking a little, his cheeks damp from tears, and she wants to hold him tight until the end of the world._

_Later they both stand in a corridor when Garret is taken away. She looks at him and sees Ward going with the guards, escorting the prisoner. She sees agents around her, lost when everything they believed in crumbled around them._

_She turns to look at Fitz, who is standing right beside her._

_“Let’s take a vacation,” she suggests. “We haven’t take none in a while, this whole thing is a mess, let’s just go visit our parents. Or let’s go to Rome, we were planning to do that for years and never have enough time. Let’s go there.”_

_He is tired, she can see this in his eyes. They both need to rest. He agrees._

 

#4.2. the pool

_“You will never have to find out,” she assures him with all the firmness she can muster._

_The world is a cruel place, for making people as close as them doubt each other even for the tiniest second. Is this what S.H.I.E.L.D. has to offer now? Doubt? Suspicions? Looking behind them with fear of what’s lurking in their own shadows? That’s how their lives are supposed to look now? For what? For a mere chance that maybe they could stop Hydra? If the whole of S.H.I.E.L.D. with it’s agents and resources and data and protocols couldn’t, what can a group of six people and a few gadgets do? They don’t stand a chance._

_“Fitz,” she calls him out of his thoughts._

_“What?”_

_“Let’s work for Stark,” this won’t do, she sees it in his surprised eyes and furrowed brows. He won’t leave Coulson, not with this reason, she has to give him something else to convince him. “He has huge labs, lots of money. We could use it and help the team. Run analysis, maybe even convince Stark to give S.H.I.E.L.D. a hand. We are not from Operations, how are we supposed to do any good fighting in the field? We don’t even have any equipment.” He’s listening to her, which is a good start, so she continues, explaining how this is not leaving at all, how it’s just rising their chances, helping the team._

_He understands her reasoning. He always understood her._

 

#4.3. the Hub

_They are walking slowly down the corridor, back to the bus. The rest of the team stayed behind and they are just walking in silence, together as always. As it should be._

  
_She is strong and controlling herself the whole way back to the plane. She looks calmly at shattered glass and the mess in their bunks. She is unmoved by crashed furniture and equipment._

_It’s the door to the lab that makes her stop in her tracks and think. Bullet holes, too precise, like aimed at something specific instead of mindlessly shot along by the team walking through the plane. These two are different even in shape, not like standard ones used by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents._

_Later she asks Skye about them._

_The answer is unacceptable._

_May. Shot. Fitz. In. The. Head._

_Fitz. Head. Shot._

_Twice._

_She was never more grateful for the armored glass of lab doors. It saved him. Two shots from the I.C.E.R. at the head? The dose could be too much, he could be seriously hurt, damaged nerve endings or worse, since these nerve endings were so close to his brain._

_She is going fast through the plane, searching for him, until she sees him in the kitchen. Ruins called a kitchen._

_“Fitz,” she calls him._

_He looks at her and smiles._

_“Let’s quit.” She says immediately, knowing that if she won’t do this fast, she may change her mind and she can’t, it’s too important for second guessing._

_“What? You want to leave S.H.I.E.L.D.?” He looks at her with confusion._

_She thinks about it for a second. Is this what she really wants? No, not exactly._

_“Yes. Let’s quit. Look,” she waves her hand at glass and wood covering the floor. “That’s not what we signed for. That’s not what they were promising us. Organisation falling down? Hydra lurking in shadows all along? What’s in it for us Fitz?”_

_“We are agents. We have duties...”_

_Why does he have to be so difficult when she is trying to save him?_

_“What duties, Fitz? We are scientists. Our duties are to science. We are not field agents, we can’t just run around the world hoping we can fight the bad guys. Labs are our weapons. If S.H.I.E.L.D. can’t give them to us, how can we do our job?”_

_He is watching her silently for a moment._

_“Coulson needs us. He needs us even more now. We can’t leave him, Jemma. We can’t abandon our team, especially not in time of need.” He tries to convince her and she knows that he is right, but that is not the point, the point is to get him away from there, to some safe place. With no guns aimed at his head._

_“I’m scared, Fitz.” She tells him, knowing that this argument would be hard for him to fight. “I’m scared. S.H.I.E.L.D. is not what we thought it was. There are terrorists after us. That’s not what I dreamed of, to put it lightly. Please, let’s just quit and leave this nightmare.”_

_“Jemma...”_

_“Please, I’m too afraid to stay, but I won’t leave without you, I can’t.” He looks at her with furrowed brow, hesitating. “We could work for Stark, help Coulson from there. From a safe lab, away from gunfire.”_

_He doesn’t answer. But after a while he simply nods._

 

These ones were longer, but nice. For once she woke up with nothing but a smile on her face. Because after them she always had a few minutes of nice visions of both of them in Stark’s labs, working and laughing like always. For once it ended happy.

  
-o-

Reporting to Coulson was a distant reminder of what normal felt like. Of a world where good things still exist. Things like safety and friendship and true happiness.  
She should ask him. Now. Before they hang up. But what if Coulson saw that as sign she's not ready and told her to come back? What if the answer would be wrong? What if she would be forced to stay, knowing she should be there because Fitz needed her?

Silence. Time running out.

“Is that all?” Coulson’s voice in a phone.

“Uhm,” she hesitated. What if she won't get another chance? “How's F-” the sound of sound of the dial tone interrupted her before she could articulate her question.

She hesitated too long. Again.

* * *

**CLASS 5: Together. Or not at all.**

This class was confusing. She knew that she shouldn’t classify them as good dreams, but still, she liked them. They were some of her favourites. Because in them they were together. Always together, forever, until their last breath.

  
#5.1. The Pod

_“Take it, Jemma. Take it.” Fitz’s voice is insistent, shaky with emotions. A whole mix of them but no fear, all of it stuffed back with pure bravery and determination. And love. How could she not have noticed it before? It was so obvious, staring at her the whole time._

_He pushes the canister into her hands, the plastic touching her fingertips which try to grip it unconsciously. She manages to stop her treacherous hands and the canister falls to the floor, rolls away from them, all the way to the wall._

_“No.” She repeats over and over, shaking her head._

_“Take it,” there’s something new in his voice. Desperation. For survival. But not his. Hers. How could she have been so blind? “Please.”_

_“No.”_

_He moves, intending to go and take it, give it to her again, but she stops him just in time, holds his arm, and tries to ignore his winces of pain when she touches broken bone. His life is more important than pain._

_“You move from here, I will push the button. And you will be the one holding the oxygen,” she threatens._

_“I can’t swim like that Jemma,” he points to his sling. “And you know that.” He tries to reason. He always tries to reason._

_“I don’t care.”_

_“It makes no sense.”_

_“Neither does the idea of me taking it. You’re staying here. We’re both staying right here and thinking about the solution. Another solution, where we both get out of here.” She forces her voice to sound like steel even if she feels that her body is made of gelatine._

_His arm hangs in surrender when he slowly nods his head, resignation clouding his eyes._

_They stay and think. For a long time. Searching and searching for a solution. One that ends with them both being well._

 

#5.2. the Pod

_“No, no, no,” she denies over and over even though she knows deep down that there’s no other way out, no miraculous solution that would save them both._

_“It’s okay,” his soothing voice, calming her even now. “Take it Jemma. Take it.”_

_Impossible. No. No. NO._

_She takes it._

_And she throws it at a wall with all the strenght she has. It crushes, plastic whining and breaking._

_“What the...” Fitz watches it in shock, not able to say anything for a few seconds. “Now we don’t have oxygen for either of us.”_

_“Find another way.” She tells him, because he’s Fitz, he always finds a way out; he’s brilliant and brave and smart and courageous and intelligent and amazing. If there’s a way out, he will finding it. “This solution was unacceptable,” she continues. “We will find another one. Together.”_

_They don’t. But they are together when they get sleepy, and she rests her head on his shoulder and he curls his good arm around her back and waist and they sit there murmuring silly things to each other, not caring that they are wasting oxygen because comforting each other is not a waste. They stay like that until the sleep comes, bringing darkness along._

 

#5.3. the Pod

_“Jemma, come on, we have to hurry up.”_

_“No. No. No.” She cries, her own tears choking her._

_“Take it, Jemma.” he moves away and pushes the canister into her hands. “Take it.”_

_She lets it slip through her fingers and moves quickly to catch Fitz before he can move too far away from her, before he’s out of her reach. She catches him, her arms around him, her hands on his neck, tugging him closer to her._

_She holds him, tight like she intends to hide him in herself, shield him, keep him safe, not caring that the heavy air will soon make her dizzy, the canister with oxygen long forgotten, because they are together and they will be like that forever._

_She kisses his cheek and forehead, and nose and jaw and ear and neck and arm and collarbone and throat and chin. And she’s purposefully omitting one place because she knows what would happen if she doesn’t._

 

  
She woke up the moment she’d almost managed to finally kiss his lips.

Her fingers itching to touch flannel, her nose full of scent that wasn’t right, air on her lips so cold and her mind so confused, because Fitz was her best friend. And she just wanted... him. Whatever that meant.

But she couldn’t be so egoistic as to want him to die with her. And she shouldn’t be content because that was not a happy ending, and in reality Fitz was alive which was so much better and she should be grateful and happy.

She really should.

-o-

She tried to write them letters.

The idea hit her when Coulson showed up for the first time. She couldn’t call but a letter, handwritten on paper, that would be a safe way of communication.

She wrote one to May. That was easy. Telling her about which part of her training was useful, of work and stuff that were not personal at all.

The one for Trip took her longer. She wrote that she’s fine, and about some funny things that she saw in the lab. It was very short.

With Skye’s it was more complicated. She said she’s sorry but it’s an important mission, and she’s very careful and not risking too much and she will be back the first chance she gets. She asked tons of questions even though she knew she wouldn’t receive any answers.

Then she tried to write one for Fitz. Sitting down at her desk, she tried to write something, anything, but each time she put together some sentences she was crossing them out a minute later. Everything she managed to write down was either irrelevant and silly, too complicated even for her to understand, or so important that it should be said in person, while watching his face, not in an emotionless piece of paper. She wrote and crossed and tore the paper.

Two hours later she had 21 drafts and not a single letter for him.

She burned them all in her kitchen.

* * *

**CLASS 6: Not when it counted, of course**

They were also the ones she absolutely hated and yet they came to her more often than she wished.

 

#6.1. the Ocean

_There is water. Everywhere around her. In her ears. In her eyes. In her nose._

_She pushes the canister to her lips and takes a breath. A deep breath filling her lungs with pure oxygen._

_She looks around her, throwing her head from side to side, but there’s water everywhere, whirling, catching things from the floor and throwing them around. She can’t see him. She can’t find him. She’s there, she’s looking, but Fitz is nowhere to be found, even though the mere pieces of logic and reason left in her mind are screaming that he has to be here somewhere. So she keeps looking and looking until her head spins and the water begins to darken on the edges of her sight until the darkness takes her too._

 

#6.2. the Ocean

_Water is everywhere, it hits her body and her face, forces itself into her nose and mouth, into her throat as she tries to spit it out. She holds the canister up to her face and takes a breath, comforting her lungs with blessed oxygen. She looks around her, ignoring the sticking salt of water in her eyes. She sees him just a few feet from her, laying on the floor next to the wall the water pushed him onto. Not moving. Knocked out. She reaches for him, grabs him by some miracle and manages to somehow maneuver them both through the window. She holds him with one hand and swims with the other, trying to be as fast as she can to escape, to reach safety._

_She throws a look back every tiny second, to make sure Fitz is still there, still with her, safe in her grip. She swims higher, looks down to ensure Fitz’s safety and swims faster, and slows down to look at his figure again, and swims._

_But the surface is too far away and she has too little time, trying to win this race with borrowed breath. The view in front of her is blurry. That’s because of water and sunlight. The rays are breaking on the surface. That’s what makes them blurry. But then she looks back at Fitz and he’s blurry too, he’s getting smudgy on the edges and her lungs start to hurt and her muscles don’t want to listen to her anymore, losing their rhythm. She slows down and slows down and down and down until she reaches complete darkness, almost like falling asleep._

 

#6.3.the Ocean

_Water, water, water, hitting her and stealing her breath from her, forcing her to take the one Fitz gave her. Around her wet salty needles trying to blind her, trying to hide him from her, but she fights it with persistence until she finds him and grabs him, taking him out of this metal trap along with her. She keeps her grip on his collar with all her might, feels her muscles tighten all the way to her arm in a desperate effort to hold his weight with all her strength so that nothing could force them apart not even the vast depth of the ocean and its waves and currents. She swims up and up and up toward the light, the surface, the air._

_She’s so focused on it that she doesn’t pull her eyes from her goal, too afraid to waste even an ounce of priceless energy, even a tiny second to look back. Her fingers are twitching but she ignores it, because she has to go up, up, up, only a few feet left and they will be safe. But her fingers are traitorous again and they start losing their squeeze, muscles too strained by the strength of grip she forced on them. In one second she’s holding Fitz’s collar safely, the next a few muscles loosen and the material slips from between her fingertips and Fitz falls. A Body without oxygen, too heavy to float, goes down like a rock. He goes down and down and down and she stops on her way, trying to decide. Should she push just a little up and take a breath she needs so she can come back for him and pull him up again? But he will fall down and down and it might be too late by the time she comes back. She should catch him now. Now now now. But he’s dropping further and further away and she has so little breath left and she can’t decide, can’t because there, just above her, is life and down is death, but Fitz is falling there. Alone. She starts to scream but there’s no sound, only the water flowing into her lungs, taking the last of oxygen, taking the last of Fitz’s breath away from her, leaving only an empty void and darkness._

 

She woke up, a scream in her throat that she was trying to stop, not remembering why.

“Fitz...” Escaped from her lips, but her hand was there on time to muffle it. Because she couldn’t say it, she had to force herself not to say it, because even now, half awake and terrified, she remembered it was important.

_Bugs. In her apartment._

Listening.

Hydra.

She couldn’t let them know what’s important to her. When Hydra finds out what’s important for her, they will crush it right before her eyes.

_Not him, not him, not him._

She took a deep breath, which didn’t calm her at all. She reached for her night stand and opened the drawer. Not the top one, hiding her gun, but the one on the bottom. It was dark so it took her a while to find what she was looking for, even though there was nothing else in there. Finally her fingertips brushed over it and she took out a piece of metal, two of them actually, connected with a bolt in a way that let them move around each other.

She had stolen it. Coulson forbade her to take anything connected with anyone. No photos, no mementos, nothing even remotely personal that could be connected to someone from the team even by a long shot.

So she, the always following the rules Jemma Simmons, had stolen this scrap from Fitz’s workbench, because she needed something, some anchor, some reminder of why she was here, what she was fighting for and what’s waiting for her.

She clutched it in her hands, drawing it closer to her face, fumbling with it in a desperate search for comfort, but cold metal was nothing like the hands that made it and she wiped his remnants with her own skin, touched it too many times already for his fingertips to remain on the surface.

During some nights she was a hero.

During others she was just terrified. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- In a summary I promised that it will be a series of short scenes. Let's define some things: this chapter is long, but contains a lot of short scenes, so it's still exactly what I've promised. "My logic is undeniable" ;)  
> \- Chapter inspired by Spike’s “Every night I’d save you” speech from Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode “After Life”. Class 6 title is a quote from this speech  
> \- Class 5 title is a quote from Doctor Who episode “The Angels Take Manhattan”  
> \- With this chapter the whole period between season 1 and 2 is covered. But of course I won’t leave you with this kind of ending :) There will be a bonus chapter with a few scenes from season 2, with a happy ending. Well, happy for this story's standards.  
> \- Thanks to TheLateNightStoryTeller and amandajoyce118 for beta reading.


	11. Even when you’re running away, you’re chasing it

A few days after Simmons returned, May told her that she should let off some steam and waved her hand in the direction of a punching bag. So Simmons did exactly that. Well, maybe not exactly the way May was thinking of.

Now, she was standing in Coulson’s office, breathing heavily from exhaustion, her throat burned by shouts that left it just a few seconds ago. Yes, May definitely didn’t have in mind yelling at the Director when she was giving her advice. But that was exactly what Simmons needed.

“You lied to me, sir!” She yelled again, trying to remember that it was her superior she was yelling at, so she should at least try to stay polite, even if she was shouting. “I’ve seen the monitoring. He wasn’t getting better at all. I was doing everything I could to help you. I could have died there. And you lied about the only thing that was important to me!”

“Then why didn’t you ever ask?” He said with a slightly surprised look and a hint of something she couldn’t name.

She wanted to scream that she had, many times, but she couldn’t. Because the truth was, she wanted to ask but never really vocalised the question. She asked about the team in general, about work and S.H.I.E.L.D. Coulson always just guessed the meaning and spoke his comforting words.

_Which were lies._

“Why would I even have to ask?!” She decided to follow her fury. “You knew, sir, and you never said a thing. You said he’s doing well. He was talking to himself! All you did was ask about the cloaking and then you even let him confront Ward! No sir, don’t even try, the security should have been better, this should have never happened. He had a panic attack and a nervous breakdown there, all alone, while being on strong meds and with a weapon in his hand! No, a tablet with access to the control panel is as much a weapon in Fitz’s hands as a gun is in May’s, and you know that very well! You promised! You promised that you would take care of him!...”

Her screams and shouts continued and Coulson just sat there, letting her get it all out, until her throat was hoarse and she had nothing left to say.

She left Coulson’s office feeling only a tiny bit better. Then her eyes caught Fitz. He saw her too, and quickly turned into the closest side corridor. He was avoiding her. She wanted to scream and punch Coulson and run after Fitz and lock herself in her room and cry, all at the same time.

* * *

 

During the first few days after Fitz’s questions and her running away instead of giving him answers, she thought that he would let it drop and wouldn’t ask again. She should have known better- between the two of them Fitz was always the courageous one who wasn’t running away from things just because they were hard and hurtful. So, of course he gave her a few days to rest and asked again. Yet again she had nothing to tell him and looked around, searching for a way to escape.

Fitz looked at her, his eyes surprisingly calm and sad.

“I’m not a k-kid Simmons. I’m no-not the same, but I’m not a kid that needs to... to be protected.”

She took a relieved breath, because finally, even if just this once, he wasn’t trying to insult himself because of what happened to him.

“I don’t know what to say.” She admitted.

“You could try the truth for a... a change.” Fitz didn’t sound angry. Just tired.

“I haven't lied to you.”

“Not lying is not e-equ... It's not the same...Well, you weren’t exactly speaking your mind. Not honest. Omitting the truth. Just spit it out.”

She couldn’t say it. It would hurt him.

But then she thought about it for a while. Last year he saw her ill because of an alien virus and risked the infection himself, saw his best friend jumping of the plane, went on a field mission without an extraction plan, had his teammate trying to shoot him in the chest and head, was threatened to either work for enemy or be tortured, dropped into the ocean by someone he considered a friend, went through hypoxia and a coma, suffered from aphasia and temporal lobe damage, not to mention his heart being broken. By his best friend.

He could handle a few words. She owed him.

But again, she wasn’t strong enough to give them to him, not yet.

* * *

 

She was talking with Skye in the kitchen, happy that they could talk again about meaningless things, like why she wouldn’t wear a blouse showing a little more of her body or undo some buttons and how dresses are not so comfortable to wear in the lab. 

It was nice to be back and safe, to talk with friends and not have to worry about giving away classified information or destroy her cover. It was nice to curl her hair and do her make up with looking pretty in mind, instead of concealing the paleness of her cheeks and bags under her eyes. It was nice to see Fitz look at her and smile when he thought she wouldn’t notice.

When Skye decided to finally drop the silly conversation subjects and went back to work, Trip came in and sat next to her, putting his mug on the table and handing her another one. She thanked him and took a sip. It was too sweet and not her favourite flavour, but still warm and the gesture was nice. They talked a while about living in a base and how they couldn’t even go shopping without authorisation, not to mention recreational walks. Then Trip joked about organising a movie theatre in one of the Playgroud's vaults and invited her to join, or even grab something better to eat.

She froze for a second and took another sip of her tea, thoughts running through analysis and conclusions, searching for the right thing to say. 

A year ago she’d have been happy if some tall, muscled man expressed his interest in her. She would be awkward and smiling and trying to figure out if it meant anything or if she was just overanalysing and reading too much into things. That was before she understood how blind and oblivious she was. Now Fitz’s aversion to him at the beginning made a lot more sense, now that she knew that Trip was not only friendly but also flirty. Her priorities changed too: now she’d rather sit with Fitz and watch Doctor Who instead of playing complicated social games with double meaning.

So she told Trip that she would rather join them during one of the evening video gaming session and get to know the new teammates better. 

She didn't add that she was curious to see how Fitz's hands were doing with operating the control pad, and if his coordination improved, just excused herself and walked out of the kitchen, heading to her bunk.

* * *

 

She was passing through the Playground’s corridors when she ran into Fitz, who had to be coming back to his room from the pantry, since his hands were full of snacks; a bowl of popcorn, a few packs of chips and pretzels, some chocolate biscuits and a bottle of coke. The evidence was clear and could mean only one thing: a movie night.

“Hi, Simmons,” he said, surprised, even thought they’d already seen each other a few times during the day. 

“Hi. You’re going to watch something?” _Congratulations brain, you’ve just asked an obvious question._

“Yes,” he admitted. “Do you want to acco.. to watch too?” He was looking pointedly at the floor and furrowing his brows, trying to focus.

“Oh! Oh, no, no, I... I still have something to do in the lab...” She knew it sounded bad, but she was not ready for watching something together in awkward silence, not when she still remembered how it used to look and feel. Not when she still yearned for what they had. “What are you planning to watch?”

“ _The Asylum of the Daleks_.” He looked at her again. “You sure you don’t want to...?”

“No, no. I’d love to.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t. She wanted to, but she was just too afraid of breaking something by accident. Again. “But I really should be going now. Maybe another time.” She smiled and went on her way.

At least now Fitz was watching the Doctor Who episode with a happy lovers’ reunion instead of the one ending with a suicide. This was progress. 

* * *

 

She tried to work with Fitz, just like they used to. She tried to engage him in her projects, but somehow it hadn’t worked. She couldn’t understand, why? They were Fitzsimmons, surely there had to be a part of her work where Fitz could feel included and provide some input. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t manage to create a situation where the two of them worked together well. Each time she tried to share her work with him it ended in a fiasco. He couldn’t explain his ideas to her and she couldn’t guess them. She tried to give him some engineering parts to do, but his hands were shaky and he was getting frustrated when he couldn’t get his job done as fast as he used to. She was making him worse, there was no denying it. Even Mack saw that and tried to let her know, maybe not in the subtlest of ways, but with good intentions. As if she wasn’t aware of it on her own. The situation barely changed in that department since she had left. 

When Coulson showed them the notebook found during one of the missions, she didn’t even know where to start. Grabbing a dictionary and some textbooks looked like a good idea. It had 30 pages, mostly sketches, some math symbols and equations. Some of the pages were burned or ripped, and Coulson wanted them to identify the device and build it if it’s useful. She was guessing that it was some kind of force field, but that was as far as she could go.

“Well, that would be...” She wanted to explain that the Director couldn’t expect them to just take bits and pieces of an old blueprint and make it happen. How was she going to work on this and aid Fitz in finding a solution?

“That’s about Lorentz fo.. force.” Fitz pointed his fingers at a half burned page “Quite clever. But it won’t work e-eff... work well that way, there has to be... be some, some better... thing. And t-the material, seriously, iron? That’s way too heavy to be con...conv... good. But if we changed this... piece...” He took a propelling pencil, a 2B, out of his pencil case and draw a few lines on the blueprint, crossing others off. He then took another one, a 0.4 2H and added a few new elements. 

“You can do this?” Asked Coulosn.

“Yeah, just have to make some... some changes, here and... and there.” He took a piece of paper and switched his pencil to a traditional 2H before he started writing some mathematic symbols and equations with more letters than numbers. “I will just ....check Maxwell’s...” He murmured and kept writing while the rest of them remained silent. 

Simmons watched him and couldn’t stop a smile of pride from showing on her face. Because Fitz was sitting by his desk, so busy with his work that he couldn’t see anything around him, and the rest of the team was standing around in a circle, waiting for his answer, because they were sure that he would solve their problem. 

Pride was replaced by something else when she looked at his hand writing and drawing and making corrections, because she had no idea what he was doing, but he did. Fitz was back, he was working and he was having fun with it while the rest of them were lost about what any of it meant, and he was the smartest person she had ever met and the world was a better place with him in it. 

There was a blue and yellow book lying on his desk that caught her eye, stuffed with papers full of equations and integrals written in a shaky handwriting. Very similar to what Fitz was producing right now, with a hand that was far more sure and steady.

_He had written four pages in three minutes._

It reminded her yet again that Fitz was amazing and fully capable of doing anything he wanted without her helping and guiding him. She couldn’t tear her eyes from him even when Skye nudged her with her elbow for staring.

Later that evening, when she was still smiling a little while preparing to sleep, it occurred to her that she still had the tendency to be an ivy and entangle him instead of letting him stand on his own. But she was sure that she would figure out a way to help Fitz without weakening him. She was making progress. Fitz was making huge progress. They were making progress. They just needed to stop being Fitzsimmons and be Fitz and Simmons for a while. Be individuals first and then when they were both complete they could come back to their great partnership. Maybe this change in their relationship wasn’t so bad, maybe it was simply necessary.

There were things she hadn’t noticed before. They had to rebuild their relationship, fix all the cracks and misunderstandings that were hiding and growing through years. The ones that made them look stable but not durable enough under pressure.

Like how they could finish each other’s sentences but never really listened, never let the other say what exactly they had in mind. How their communication was based on assumptions. How they never let the other speak long enough, always jumping forward into guessing and relying on the other to just get the meaning without having to express it. How there was a huge mass of things they’d never talked about, little cracks that were never addressed and ignored through years in a foolish hope that they would simply disappear and leave things clear. Like sodium hydroxide would almost disappear leaving pure looking water after some time. She should have remembered how highly exothermic this dissolution was, how serious the burns it may leave were, if it was not held with caution. 

Maybe them being a little less close to each other than they used to be would actually turn out to be good and healthy. Maybe it would make both them and their bond stronger.

She just had to find a way to set things straight, to clean every misunderstanding, to make him understand her reasons and how she still wanted to be with him. How it didn’t bother her at all that he wasn’t the same, because for her he was still Fitz and that was all that’s important.

* * *

 

After Fitz told her that he was moving to the garage, she wanted to tell him that this decision was terrible and insane and would’thelp anything, but she just couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t tell him with his sad, broken eyes that he was wrong, so she focused on keeping her tears at bay instead. 

Fitz wanted to be away from her. He needed it. She should let him move on.

She couldn’t.

It was self-centered. It was, there was no denying that. But she just couldn’t let him go without a fight.

Because he might not have seen this, refused to see it, but she cared. She had waited too long for him to recover and come back to her to just give up.

_So she was stubborn._

She would show him that they could still work together. That as far as she was concerned, he was still fully capable of doing anything he wanted. That it should be them running the science division, not her.

She pushed him into operating the D.W.A.R.F.s in Puerto Rico, let him give Coulson his report and finished his sentence when he couldn't do it. She let him go alone with the explosives even though she broke all her nails in nervousness while waiting for his return. Since he refused to believe her words, she was determined toshow him that she believed in him instead and still considered him a perfectly capable scientist.

Later, when the ground started shaking and he caught her to keep her close to his chest, she was determined to enjoy it and lock all the fear away, because his arms were always safe. Who knew when she would have another chance, so she tried to focus on every tiny detail she could. Like how his arms were broader than she remembered, and didn't shake at all, his hold steady and strong. Or how he smelled exactly the same, and how soft his shirt was against her cheek. And the stubble. She always hated men wearing stubble, which wasn't elegant at all and had to make certain activities in very close proximity simply itchy. But she couldn't help noticing how it made his jaw look and how it was affecting the appearance of his cheekbones and wishing he wouldn’t get rid of it while wondering how it would feel against her hand. Or another part of her body. Like her cheek! Nothing improper about that, it’s perfectly normal for a friend to wonder how touching cheeks with a friend would feel. Still, she wasn’t sure enough of her own reasoning to raise her head and simply check. She just moved her head closer into his chest, feeling safe with him. 

When the shaking stopped she looked up at his face. There were small cuts and bruises on his skin, some blood on his cheek and lots of white dust in his hair making it look like a matted mass of tangles and it hit her how handsome he looked like that- simply being alive. 

Back there, with the world shaking all around them while he held her safe, for a moment she hoped they would stay that way. That he would see that together they were better and he would stay. 

But he didn’t. When the danger passed he let her go.

His eyes were concerned when he checked if she wasn’t hurt and started stammering something between making sure she’s all right and apologising, for what she had no idea. His hands left her arms and he looked around the cave, his eyes escaping into the direction of the tunnels. She moved away just a little bit and watched with sad eyes as he walked away from her, as if the last few seconds hadn’t happened, or worse, as if they didn’t matter. She knew him too well to believe it though. She saw it in the way he searched for something to occupy him, the way he tried not to look at her only to fail every few minutes. 

Their relationship was rocky, but when everything was crumbling they both wanted to be close. That was what mattered.

* * *

 

 _She should let him leave_ , that's what she told herself, stealing nervous glances at him, when he packed his things from his lab bench and walked away with a box in his hands, turning at the door to look back at her and trying to smile when he tilted his head, muttering something about how he will be in the garage if she needs anything.

She needed him here, with her on a road to fix whatever was between them.

She didn’t say anything, just nodded her head in return.

He drew a border between them and put the walls around him. She understood. It was hard to accept, but she understood that he felt the need to protect himself. That he was still vulnerable. Needed space. Needed some time away, on his own. It hurt but she understood.

So she respected his wishes, his borders, his walls.

_She let him go._

But she didn’t give up. She stayed just after the the thin line separating them. Just outside, so that she could cross it the very moment he would be ready. So he could see that’s she’s still here, near him, close enough if he needed her, and close enough if she needed him. She was there, waiting. Letting him have his time but refusing to go away.

Because, if someone’s really important to you, you have to let them go in hope that they will come back to you.

She just had to be patient. She had to believe in this.

She repeated that every morning just after she woke up and every evening just before she fell asleep. Because that’s what was giving her hope and strength and made her happier and better.

One day. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a month, or a year or five, but one day for sure, when they both were ready and strong on their own, when they learned how to help each other instead of making things worse, when they remembered to listen when the other needed to speak, when they would be willing to solve every issue and disagreement the moment it appeared instead of trying to ignore it. One day. 

_Fitz would come back to her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The title is a quote from “You can’t overcome love” (Nie pokonasz miłości) song from the Witcher, my translation. Lyrics are beautiful and it’s a real shame that there’s no English version of it. 
> 
> -I wanted to make it all kisses and sunset kind of hapy ending, but this is the happiest I could make it with what’s happening in the show. Actually this fic was supposed to tie with my another one with a real happy ending, but again, the show got in the way.
> 
> -This story is over, but as I’ve mentioned before, I will write another one, this time from Fitz’s POV. I’m not promising chapter for chapter, but there will be definitely mentions about why Fitz is watching these Doctor Who episodes ;) The title will be "Can we rest now?". Since I will be quite busy for a while, I think that it will be ready by June.
> 
> -Thanks to TheLateNightStoryTeller and amandajoyce118 for beta reading and helping me with this story :)


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